


Jeeves and the Green Eyed Whatsit

by Mice



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bertie brings home a new and very handsome young friend, Jeeves starts looking slightly worried. This fic has no socially redeeming value.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Green Eyed Whatsit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Random_Nexus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/gifts).



> For the birfday of random_nexus, who makes Jooster fans the world over very happy with her smuts.

"Jeeves!" I tootled as I entered the Wooster abode. "Add a bit extra to the platter tonight, I've brought a new chum over for the evening!"

Jeeves materialized next to us, scooping up the hats and the whangee and placing them in their appointed places. "Very good, sir."

"Angelo, old fruit, do come in. Jeeves will provide us with a topping whistle-wetter if you'll deposit yourself on the settee."

I sailed over to the piano and limbered up the fingers. I'd met young Angelo Martiani at the Drones earlier in the afternoon; he'd been a guest of Oofy Prosser's, new to London and, since Bertram is a sociable bird who knows all the right places to be and people to know, Oofy asked if I'd be a pal and squire the lad about the metrop.

It was only a moment before a salver appeared at my hand with a perfect brandy and s.; Angelo was already sipping at his. "It's quite delightful, Bertie, old thing," he said. There was a broad, warm smile on his face as he sipped at the ambrosial nectar. This bird was really the dasher, I must say; dark eyes, dark hair, that swarthy olive tint to the skin that spoke of Mediterranean sea breezes, and a perfect set of white teeth rather akin to Aunt Agatha's string of pearls. I'll admit I found him quite aesthetically pleasing despite having my very own dark eyed, dark haired bit of perfection about the house.

I took the proffered glass and thanked Jeeves, taking a sip and setting it atop the piano before launching into a round of "Minnie the Moocher." Angelo slipped right into it with me, hie-de-hie-ing with the best of them. Jeeves, not being particularly partial to hie-de-hies, shimmered off to the kitchen to get started on the evening's repast.

It wasn't long before Angelo was sitting next to me on the bench adding another couple of hands to the jazz I was playing. I'd always enjoyed it when Jeeves joined me like that, and Angelo was really a topping player. He knew exactly where to go when we started improvising, and our laughter rang out to shiver the rafters. After a couple of drinks, he was leaning against me a bit whenever our fingers got into close proximity on the keyboard.

There was an elderly sheep on a distant hillside cough as Jeeves announced dinner. There was a slight amount more starch to his spine than usual as we sat before his princely spread.

The convo rocketed here and there, from commiserating about aunts and beazels to trips we'd taken across the briny deeps. I described several voyages with a dash too much adventure that Jeeves and I had gone on, omitting that they were usually at Jeeves's insti-something. I had, after all, quite enjoyed them after I'd been prised out of the London flat, leaving fingernail marks on the door jamb. The enjoyment was always as much Jeeves's doing as the travel itself, of course.

Being of the Italian persuasion, Angelo spent a great deal of time leaning in or sitting close or putting a chummy arm about the slender Wooster shoulders. I didn't mind that much. Bertram is a friendly host, after all, and one must make one's guest feel at home, so long as he isn't touching you for a loan, asking you to pinch something, or accidentally getting you engaged to his fiancée.

Jeeves spent the evening floating and shimmering about the place, as was his wont, though there seemed something particularly stuffed about his frog tonight. There was a whiff of the iceberg about him as the night wore on and Angelo told me of the delights of Florence -- the city, not my former fiancée, of course -- with its art and food and sparkling sunshine and medieval architecture. It sounded like the sort of place Jeeves would entirely adore. When Angelo asked me to come and visit him, I told him I'd let the idea roll about in the Wooster onion. Perhaps I'd save it for a time when Jeeves was feeling out of sorts and needed a change of climate, as the viking strain in his blood sometimes led to a dissatisfaction with the metrop that I had never understood. It's one of his mysteries, I suppose.

As the night galloped along, I noted that the taxidermied amphibian expression had given way to a look usually reserved for scarlet cummerbunds or particularly fruity ties. Being uncertain about the origins of such t. a. e., I finally gave Angelo a shove out the door a little past midnight. He planted a couple of kisses on the damask cheeks, as those Italian chaps will do, and bid me a cheery " _Ciao, bello_!" and said he'd meet me tomorrow evening for the show that Bingo Little had mentioned at the Drones.

"Now then," I said, turning to my gentleman's gentleman, "what is it that has you so off your feed, old thing? I didn't notice a single sartorial misstep this evening on either myself or young Angelo."

"I could not say, sir," he murmured, not quite looking me in the eyes. It had been murmured with the soupiest of soupy tones.

This alarmed me slightly. Contrary to what gets published in my stories, Jeeves rarely refers to me as 'sir' when we are alone, preferring the appropriately more intimate 'Bertie,' particularly when we are snuggled together in our bed, sans clothing; I use rather more familiar terms of address myself under similar circs. I realize this may come as a shock, but Jeeves and I are quite singularly fond of one another, you see. One can't really speak the name of this fondness in public, but it is of the chummiest sort.

"Pish tosh, Reggie. You are sirring me and this always marks a distinct disapproval floating about the place. What's bothering you?"

His eyes flicked to the door for the barest fraction of a sec., then back to me. "It is of no consequence. I shall be better directly."

"I am consumed by doubt about this."

Jeeves raised his chin and one eyebrow a fraction of a degree. "As you say." Now he was neither sirring nor Bertieing me. This was worrying. What had happened?

I shook my head and took his hand. "Do come to bed, old thing," I said. "The requisite number of winks must be had so that I'll be at my best for the show tomorrow night with Angelo. Quite the charming cove, isn't he?"

Jeeves's eyes shuttered and his lips thinned slightly. "As you say."

The 'as you says' were flying thick and fast and I found it troubling. It was then that I tripped over the green eyed whatsit snuggled about the man's shoulders. "Reg," I asked, "are you, I mean to say, are you _jealous_ of young Angelo?"

His hand tightened in mine. "He was being entirely too familiar with you," Jeeves said.

I tilted the Wooster coconut as I led Jeeves toward the bedroom. "He's Italian, old thing. They rather tend that way, from what I understand."

"He was flirting with you quite incorrigibly."

"Nonsense. He was just being friendly."

Jeeves stopped as we reached the bedroom door. "He called you beautiful," he said softly, sounding just a bit hopeless.

"What? When?"

"As he bid you goodnight."

"You mean, that wasn't just a cheery toodle pip?"

He shook his head. "No, sir."

"But, what -- Reggie, I hadn't even a clue." There were entirely too many 'sirs' in this conversation for my comfort.

"You did nothing to discourage his hanging on you. In fact, you seemed quite taken with him, sir."

"I say!" I drew myself up to my full -- if not quite Jeevesian -- height. "Are you suggesting I was flirting back? Because really, old thing, that's not at all sporting! You know you're the only chap for me."

"He is an extraordinarily beautiful young man," Jeeves said. "And I am quite aware that you are attracted to men with dark hair and eyes." Well, that last bit was quite true, given that Jeeves answered this description to a tee.

"Now, just one moment," I snapped. "Looking at a dashing chap is entirely different than wishing to drag him off to bed and do illegal and immoral things to him, and it is also a vast and mountainous cry from wanting to spend the rest of my life with him!" I let go of Jeeves's hand and latched onto his lapels with all due enthusiasm, tugging him into a very forceful kiss. He was unprepared for the oscular action and wobbled slightly, causing him to wrap his arms about me to avoid stumbling, but this simply enhanced the whole kissing thing as I applied lips and tongue to the sitch. After several minutes of this, I came up for air. "There is no one anywhere that I prefer to you, Reggie, no matter how bally pretty he might be. I'd think after spending the last five years snuggled up in bed with me every night -- excepting visits and hols, of course -- this should have been obvious. We're going to have to increase your ration of fish, old thing."

Still slightly breathless, he swallowed and whispered, "Sometimes... I'm sorry, Bertie. It's very hard sometimes not to worry that you might change your mind, particularly when I am faced with a gentleman whose aspect you obviously find pleasing and who is your equal in wealth and status." He leaned his forehead gently against my own. "I am aware that you love me and am usually quite confident in your regard for me but, from time to time, I fear that jealousy does make itself felt. I occasionally worry that I might become nothing but a convenience to you."

Well, that shivered the Wooster timbers, I must say. "Reggie," I said, taking his dashed handsome face in my hands, "if you were _convenient_ , you'd be a beazel and I'd be married to you and both of our lives would be considerably easier. That, however, is never to be and I prefer you just as you are, with all your maleness and utterly delicious deviance intact. The fact that you lack a bushel of nobility lurking about in your ancestral shrubbery and that you don't have as much money as I do doesn't matter a whit to me, because you are the most brilliant, talented, resourceful chap I have ever met. That you're also the most handsome blighter on the planet doesn't hurt either. You haven't a thing to worry about; no one could possibly take the prize from you when it comes to making this Wooster the happiest bird in existence." I kissed him again, quite thoroughly, chivvying him toward the bed as I did so.

There wasn't much in the way of speech going on when I shoved my man onto the bed. Our mouths were otherwise occupied, you see, and Jeeves would never speak with his mouth full of my tongue. That would be impolite.

Clothing flew across the room like fleeing rabbits scattered by a hungry fox and in moments we were tangled in one another's passionate embrace. Said p. e. involved arms and legs and lips and fingers and quite likely toes as well, though I'll admit I wasn't paying quite that much attention to the minor details. Certain bits were delightfully hard and hot and pressed together in an entirely chummy way as I reassured my Jeeves of his centralized location in the Wooster heart and other regions. A moment later, I found myself on my back with a very large Jeeves atop me. He reached between us and took my stiff prick in his fist, squeezing and stroking in a thoroughly satisfying way, and I let the old onion fall back with a delighted groan. "Oh, yes," I sighed, looking up at the intense thingness in his eyes as pleasure bubbled up inside me. I tangled my fingers in his soft, black hair.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded, his voice rough and aroused as he rocked against my hip. I could feel the hard heat of him pushing against me slowly, again and again, wet at the tip and slick on my skin. He smelled musky and warm and the hunger in him was washing over me in waves. There was nothing at all better than being able to feel how much he wanted me.

I hooked a leg around his thigh and pulled him closer. "I'm yours, Reggie," I whispered, my own voice rough and somewhat ragged with everything I felt. "All of me, always, yours."

He groaned, harsh and low, and there was a bit of a shift in our position. A moment later, his long, thick cock was sliding into me, slow and slicked and wonderful. I wriggled a bit and adjusted my legs so that he could get into me with every inch of him, letting out a loud moan of intense pleasure as he pushed into me more and more deeply. "Oh, Christ," I swore, breathless and aching for more of him. "Oh, Reg." His hips ground into me and I gasped as I felt his eggs moving softly against my bottom; I was filled with him and I could feel the throb of his pulse through his prick as he moved slowly within me. A moment later his hips were doing this little sideways roll that made his prick twist inside me and send a shock of absolute ecstasy through me. I shook in his arms, shouting and gasping as he held me with all his strength; I hadn't enough brain left to even think, much less form words, because it all felt so completely corking. Every nerve in my body was dancing.

"Mine," he growled, his hips still going at it like the dickens and setting me afire with breathless passion. "Oh, Bertie, my Bertie." He moaned and sucked at my neck as his hips thrust and twisted, harder and more intense with each passing moment. There was another gasp and he ground out, "I need you." He sounded desperate and when he whispered "My Bertie" again, it was half a sob.

"God, Reggie, _yes_." It was so bally hard to talk. I needed him just as much as he did me and I pulled at his hair, tugging him down into a fierce kiss that had him coming off hard and fast, shuddering into me and shouting into my mouth. Breathless and on the edge of it myself, I reached between us and took the little Wooster in hand, giving myself a few rough tugs that had me splashing against him, completely overwhelmed as I felt him throbbing into me.

We were still like that, tense and tangled together, panting as our bodies shook with the desperate flood of our passion. Finally, once the intensity of it had eased, we gradually relaxed until we were lying together, breathless, my beloved Jeeves heavy and limp in my arms. He turned his head slowly, his eyes half-open as he gazed at me. "I love you, Bertie," he whispered; when he kissed me his lips stuck to mine a bit for a moment because our mouths were dry.

"You know I'm yours, old thing," I said, my voice a little rough from all that dashed excited shouting I'd done. "There could never be anyone else for this Wooster."

He smiled. "You are absolutely irreplaceable," he murmured. "How could I ever think you would leave me?" His fingers trailed along my cheek, soft and reverent.

"The same way I could worry about you leaving me sometimes," I said. "I had to learn to trust you, Reg, that you'd come back to me, you know."

His eyes tightened slightly. "I'm sorry I ever gave you reason to doubt me."

I shook my head. "You're here, aren't you?" I smiled.

"We are," he agreed, and he kissed me again. I could taste the promise in it.

~~pau~~


End file.
